


Eric The Red

by Entropyrose



Series: Season of the Devil [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Post Mpreg, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank and Matt had a baby boy, and now he is all grown up and ready to start college. This is the story of Eric Matthew Castle, the son of Daredevil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Boy Red

Eric grew up spending his summers with both his Dads in a little white farmhouse that Frank had purchased on the cheap and fixed up with his bare hands. The wooden floors still creaked and the windows were old and foggy with age; the perfect haven to raise his son. 

Matt was never in love with the farmhouse, per se, but he never denied that getting four weeks of a year--two in the summer and two just after Christmas, when the crime rate was low--to spend with his family outside the city limits was more than nice, it was necessary. 

Frank worried for his son. Frank worried for Matt, too, and even went through a phase where he physically tried to stop Matt from doing anything dangerous. Matt threatened to leave Frank, and that was the end of that. If Frank could not lay his cloak of protection over his husband, then he would double it over their son. 

The career counselor at the college kept giving Frank sideways glances as he tapped a stack papers on the desk and laid them down carefully. He folded his hands and cleared his throat, pausing to review the papers in front of him. "Well, I can see that Eric has impressive qualifications," he began. "However, the situation being as it is---" 

"What situation?" Matt straightened his back. 

The counselor snorted. "Well, let me be clear, Mr. Murdock. It's not every day that the child of a...of a vigilante applies here." 

"So?" 

The counselor, visibly frustrated but choosing his words *very* carefully, reclined in his office chair, bringing a leg up to rest on his knee. "Mr. Castle, here..." 

"Frank." Frank said.

"Frank. Your son is no doubt very bright and we would love to have him attend our school. However, I am concerned about the...*impact* that your...involvement...might cause." 

"What involvement?," Frank baulked, his mouth twisting up into his signature sneer. 

"Frank," Matt murmured. 

The counselor blinked. "Well, putting aside the fact that you kill people for a living--" 

"Bullshit I do. Nobody pays me to bust open heads." 

"FRANK." Matt ground out. 

"--we have been in this meeting for twenty minutes now, and I have yet to hear Eric utter a word." 

Frank paused. He glanced over at his son, who lounged in a corner, balancing his chair on two metal legs, examining his fingernails. 

Eric had always been a quiet kid for the most part. He was undoubtedly handsome; he inherited Matt's baby-doll-like face and Frank's full lips. The origin of his deep red hair remained a mystery, though Matt said he assumed it to have something to do with the Affect. And there was yet another reason for Frank to keep his guns loaded; Eric had yet to show definitive signs of his alignment. 

If Eric was born an omega, chances were good that he would have began his demi-heat (the term used to describe the heats of the first few year's of a young omega's life) around age 16. 17 at the latest. Eric hadn't brought home any omega friends, though, which would have been indicative of an alpha. Instead, alphas--particularly the built, oversized ones that Frank could smell fifteen blocks away--orbited around him as if he were the sun. Frank didn't know if Eric had even mated yet, and the thought made his blood just boil over. It wasn't something omegas or alphas could hide--the foreign scent would cling to them like a dryer sheet on a scratchy blanket. Eric had come home smelling like muscular, beefy alphas before, but it didn't last long and was usually gone by the next day or immediately after he showered. Frank just couldn't figure it. And it wasn't like he was about to approach his son and ask him flat-out if he was still a virgin. 

Eric waved a hand dismissively, his eyes still focused downward. "It's alright. They'll be at it like this for hours, if you let them." 

"Okay, let me ask you this," The counselor turned, directing all his attention to Eric. "What would *your* ideal college be like?" 

Eric shrugged. 

"Something close," Matt offered. "If you ask Frank." 

"But I'm not asking Frank. I am asking your son, Mr. Murdock." He paused, looking back at the man dressed in black fatigues and a tight black shirt who was perched on the heat register next to the window. His curiosity peaked, he added, "How close would we be talking, Mr. Castle?" 

"Four miles or less," Matt chided, poking the end of his cane into the toe of Frank's military boot. 

Frank raised his hands defensively. "So I want my kid to be close. So what?" Matt and Frank shared quiet grins, as if their playful discord in the matter had actually solidified their love for each other. 

The counselor conceded, rubbing his forehead. Eric gave him an understanding nod. "What we really need, Mr. Pattinson," Eric began, lowering his chair to all four legs and placing his elbows on his knees, "is a college that won't mind frequent visits from the Punisher." 

* * * * *

 

Eric's favorite time of year came at the tail-end of summer. The majority of the tourists had migrated back to thier inland neghborhoods, the pulsing summer heat gave way to mild breezes along the ocean shoreline, and the cops weren't quite as vigilant with the New York speed limits. The ocean was a short drive from either of his Dads' homes, and he took the top off the blazer and loaded it up with surf boards, good friends, and Coronas. 

They made their way to the beach, parked in their mostly-vacant parking lot, and dove into the frigid water. 

When Eric's 18th birthday came and went without the demi-heat that his Dads had both been expecting, he was relieved. He had watched Matt suffer years of heat cycles, and he didn't want any of that in his life. Because he wasn't built like most omegas, though, there remained a slight possibility of his alpha-hood. Eric thought it was the better option--most alphas he knew were very down-to-earth, despite their larger size and propensity to take control of any given situation. But, Eric thought, he could do without being controlled by some biological force telling him to bone something every five minutes. And he had known of alphas--really good guys--who had forced themselves on an omega because they lost control. The other option was to disappear--which is what most of the alphas did--for the duration of their mate's heat. And it was imperative for an alpha to be mated; if an alpha didn't have a mate, they were subjecting themselves to an eternal hard-on and being driven to the edge of insanity by the scent of every omega that walked by. 

Of all of his friends, Rory Abner was the closest. And as alphas went, he could have been the poster boy. Rory was a stocky, well-muscled blond with a bright, welcoming smile and who always smelled like suntan lotion. "You're too slow," Eric taunted, his back to the ocean, throwing his arms out in a "come-at-me" gesture. 

"Watch it, Red!," Rory laughed/shouted. (His friends had picked up his Dad's nickname quite by accident, both for his hair-color and his namesake, Erik The Red) His large hands felt like a truck bumper against Eric's chest, plowing him into the foamy waves. 

"You will pay!," Eric retorted playfully, kicking at Rory's legs until he tripped and landed beside him. Their friends rushed past, going further into the glistening water, splashing them both. 

The two were a wriggle of wet limbs. Then they made it into the deep, breaking off and succumbing to the weightlessness. Eric smoothed his hair back and out of his eyes. It landed on top of his head with a flop. He shook his head and kicked against the current.

"Pretty boy," Rory teased, planting his splayed fingers over Eric's head, pushing him under. Eric's powerful legs wrapped around his waist, and he climbed the alpha like a tree, simultaneously dragging him down and lifting his head up out of the water. 

"Jealous?" Eric said, tossing his head for affect, the wet hair sticking to one side of his face. 

"Maybe", Rory murmured between hard breaths. 

Eric could see the rest of their group splashing in the distance. He opened his mouth, judging the distance, and said "Hey, Roar, I bet I could make it to the docks before..." His voice trailed off. 

Rory had drifted closer, touching their chests together. Even in the freezing ocean temps, Rory's skin felt hot. The sound of his breath closing in made Eric look up, and Rory pulled him into his arms, his mouth opening slightly, pressing his plump lips against Eric's. 

"WHOA." Eric pushed back, the palm of his hand resting between Rory's pectorals, creating a few inches of space between them even as he felt a fresh rush of blood go right through his swim shorts. He blinked, as if to clear his head, a few beads of water spattering onto his cheeks. 

Rory was taken, and Eric did not need to wreck a well-established relationship to get a date. Still, Rory was giving off some incredible vibes, and it felt really good. 

Rory's grip was firm. His arm wrapped tightly across Eric's back, squeezing his shoulder blades. He leaned in and Eric's eyes lingered on his quickening pulse as it sped through Rory's carotid. He took Eric's bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth, his tongue lapping eagerly at the pouty hump. 

Eric's breath hitched again, followed by a lingering outward breath, and he paused. 

Emboldened, Rory let out a groan, hooking his free hand around Eric's bicep and fitting Eric's shoulders between his. He pushed his tongue into Eric's mouth, and Eric's lips parted, his eyes fluttering closed. 

Under the water, Eric's narrow hips brushed against Rory's and he felt the stiffening rod in Rory's shorts.

His eyes snapped open. "Uh...stop. STOP." Eric planted both hands on Rory's shoulders and shoved. A growl emanated from deep within Rory's throat and his muscular hands clamped down on Eric's waist, pulling him inward. 

Ignoring the seething pain of the digits digging into his hip-bones, Eric's fist went up into Rory's chin. "STOP!"

"Everything alright?!" He heard a distant shout. It was Mike, another of their friends. He was a towering latino with jet-black hair and muscles like jagged crystal.  
Rory backed off, the presence of another alpha having had some effect. 

"Yeah," Eric shouted back. "We're...we're alright." 

Mike responded with a sharp nod, but his frown furled. He sat on the shore, monitoring the scene. 

"Sorry," Rory shook his head, his eyes apologetic and ashamed. "God, Eric. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," Eric said, staring distrustingly at the sulking brute. He rubbed his bicep where a red mark was starting. "You and Nickel having issues?" Nickel was Rory's mate. They had started young--Nickel was fifteen and hadn't even started his demi-heat before he began dating Rory, who was 17 at the time. Nickel was nice but Eric didn't hang around omegas very much, as a general rule. Having not yet discovered his own alignment, it could be a dangerous situation. If mistaken for another omega, Eric could be harassed, heckled, propositioned or assaulted. If taken for a rival alpha, he could be challenged. Either consequence was encouragement enough to stay away from omegas. 

"Naw," Rory said, occupying himself by making lazy laps around Eric. "It's his, you know. His time of the month." 

Poor Rory. Like his Dad, Frank, Rory was unlucky enough to be stuck with an omega who had week-long heats every month. Rory was not volatile in nature, but even he was pushed to his limits when his biological urge was forcibly denied. Nickel would hole up in his apartment like most omegas did around their heat cycle. He would surround himself with buckets of Ben n Jerry's and those bumpy vibrating dildos that wouldn't quite be enough to satiate his need. Nickel was a catholic, and much like Eric's parents, was not religiously "allowed" to use birth control. 

Eric had decided that if we ever were to suffer the same fate as an omega, that he would say "fuck it" and become an atheist, too, because damn if he wasn't going to go out and buy the biggest family-size pack of birth control pills this side of the Vatican.


	2. Red Runs in the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric shot back, "You're not *protecting* anyone. You're just a bully with a fucking alpha complex. You can't even walk by some random guy on the street without becoming somehow convinced that he wants to whip out his dick and mount Daddy right in front of you." 
> 
> Frank stabbed the air with the brush, pointing it in Eric's direction. His voice was a vehement hiss. "You *shut* your mouth."

Dinner was always at 7:30 unless otherwise notified, and Eric was expected to be there. Sometimes, he tried his hand at the culinary arts and seemed to do pretty good at making meals both his Dads enjoyed. A dinner curfew seemed lame to his friends, and they would chide and dare him to skip out one night, until he reminded them that one of his parents was the Punisher and the other was a lawyer and that they were very good at being judge, jury _and_ executioner. He said goodbye to his buddies and scooted over to Matt's apartment, blowing out a breath of relief when he reached the door at exactly 7:32.

Uncle Foggy wasn't over tonight; three or four nights a week, he would be pouring over paperwork or helping set the table. Eric was pretty sure Frank looked on Foggy with indifference or mild toleration (and maybe a hint of jealousy that he was monopolizing Matt's attention?), but Matt thoroughly enjoyed the company of his partner and best friend. Eric enjoyed watching the two, listening to them talk about work, previous cases or the latest heist, and found himself lost in translation half the time with their best-friend jargon.

Eric sauntered into the living-room, crashing gracelessly onto the couch beside Matt, who was listening to the news report on tv. He swung an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. "Hey Daddy." 

Matt grinned and brushed his knuckles under Eric's chin. "You're late." 

"Hah. That's usually Dad's line." Eric didn't know the conversation that took place among his two Dads when they decided what their future kid would call them. In fact, there were alot of those seemingly insignificant questions that Eric often wondered about. He wasn't sure he had the right to ask them. It seemed like a personal question, especially for the guy who had carried him into the world in a stomach that was only ever meant to hold up against excess beer, spicy food and fist-fights. So instead of delving into an undoubtedly uncomfortable conversation, Eric decided to be grateful that he would never had to experience child-bearing himself and left it at that. 

"You're wet," Matt said, pulling way from him as he felt the slick fabric of Eric's swim shorts. "And you're sitting on _my_ couch." 

Frank was the chef this evening, which meant dinner would be a slab of meat paired with copious amounts of some kind of potato. Eric skipped into the bathroom to peel off his swim sorts of and douse himself in the warm shower water. 

When it was time to eat, everyone gathered around the small table by the window, Eric dove into his plate. He was not usually a fan of red meat, especially when said meat was bloody in the center, but today it tasted especially good. He drowned it in a combination of Sriracha and soy sauce and barely mashed the pieces between his teeth before swallowing. 

Matt laughed at the sound of Eric pigging out. "Busy day?" 

"Naw," Eric mumbled between bites, heaping a mound of mashed potatoes on top of his steak, "Rory and the guys and I went down to the beach. Oh, but get this! Mike stepped on a shell and sliced his foot open. We had to hold a towel on all the way back to his place so he wouldn't bleed all over the Blazer." Eric noticed Frank's scowl at the mention of Mike's name. 

Mike was dark-skinned, lanky and taller than a phone pole, with bangs that hung in his eyes and blue veins that trailed down his sculpted legs. He towered over Frank by at least two head-heights, and Frank launched into uber-protective Dad-Mode whenever Mike came to visit. Frank was wary of any and all friends that marched through his door, but there must have been something particularly unnerving about Mike. Eric could never quite figure it. 

He paused mid-chew, a ball of meat in stored in one cheek , as he felt his Dad's eyes upon him. He glanced upward, meeting Frank's steely gaze. 

Frank directed his steak-knife toward Eric's arm and Eric's eyes slid downward, following the trail. On the arm that Rory had clamped his massive fist around, a purple stripe was shown. It looked like a watercolor mark, thicker and one end, then trailing off into a blue bruise the shape of a thumb. "Who did that?" 

Not 'how did that happen?', Not 'what did you do?'. 

'Who.' 

"Uhm," Eric swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Huh." He feigned a look of perpllexion, sweeping his fingers across the purple mark, and dropped his eyes back down to his plate. He shrugged, a little too sharply, and said, "Must have been some rocks in the water or something." 

"Rocks," Frank scoffed under his breath, and stabbed the hunk of dead meat on his plate. 

"What is it?," Matt helped. 

"Oh, nothing, Daddy, just a bruise." Eric continued to eat, shoving food into his face despite his heart racing in his chest, which he knew in afterthought that Matt could hear. 

The rest of the meal continued in tense silence. Eric wanted so badly to look up into his Father's face to see if his Frank had been aptly fooled, but he knew that Frank was a master of interrogation and could decipher easily Eric's thinly veiled deceptions. 

It hadn't been the first time Rory had slipped--but the incidents were rare and far between. Even when they were just middle-school boys, wrestling on the couch and playing with mud, the thought of omegas and alphas far exceeding the scope of their understanding, they had always been the best of friends. Eric remembered what Rory had been like when Rory first met Nickel--the fury that burned in his chest suddenly, now that his best friend was following some other boy around like a lost puppy, with a long string of drool trailing behind him and bright, beaming, hopeful stars in his eyes. 

The two were mated early on and that seemed to stabilize things, Rory going back to his normal goofy, shy, happy self only now with a dark-haired latina boy in tow. If Eric was being honest, he looked forward to Nickel having his heats. That was one long week out of every month that he could have Rory to himself and the two could relive all those "best-friend" moments all over again and create new ones. 

Suddenly, the sound of a metal knife clattering onto a ceramic plate jolted his train of thought. His eyes flashed upward as Frank shoved his chair back with a "screech" and stalked off in silence.

Matt froze, turning his head in his son's direction. Matt wriggled his curled fingers together like he often did when he was stressed, letting out a long, ragged breath. "I'll talk to him." 

"No," Eric groaned, standing up from his seat. "He needs to get over himself." His appetite was gone, and he really didn't want to stick around and deal with whatever alpha-issues his Dad was having, so he marched off to the closet and grabbed his book-bag and the wadded-up shirt on top of it. "I'll be at Rory's," he announced over his shoulder, and touched his hand to the apartment door handle. 

A balled fist buried in the neck of his shirt launched him backwards and onto his heels. "What the _fuck?!--- ___" His hand instinctively reached out to steady himself and he grasped onto Frank's tattooed arm. "Dad---!?"

__Without reply, he was shoved halfway down the hallway and dragged the rest, reaching the threshold of his parent's bedroom just before being knocked to the floor. His hands went underneath of himself to keep his chin from bashing into the hardwood as he fell, and stared up at the black duffel bag that lay inches from his face, the contents riddled all about. He defensively rolled onto his back, bending his legs as Frank's shadow descended upon him. "Dad!," He called, kicking against Frank's legs, trying fruitlessly to scramble free. "Dad, he's trying to kill me!"_ _

__Eric was not a fighter. He was not a vigilante, like his parents, and he would never be in a hurry to tell Frank this, but he didn't believe in guns. Any dispute that could be settled with bullets could just as easily be settled with, say, a chess game or a round of Uno. He and Matt shared similar values when it came to violence; nothing beyond the necessary. It may not have been as catchy as "Semper Fi", but it was his belief nonetheless._ _

__His foot connected with Frank's chest and Frank let out a grunt, his hand clamping around Eric's ankle and twisting him upward like a marionette. He bent a knee, trapping Eric's wriggling form beneath him, easily cuffing his wrists together with his free hand._ _

__The faint "snick" of a metal lock clamping shut made Eric freeze._ _

__"What. The. Hell." Frank dropped him in one move, letting Eric's limbs contract into a ball as Eric stared down at the new silver-metal bracket adorning his leg. "What the hell?!," He repeated, barking up at Frank through heavy breaths._ _

__Frank swept up his duffel and the discarded gear beside it, stuffing everything back into place. "Tired of this shit," he murmured._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"I said, I'm tired of this shit!," Frank roared back._ _

__That made Eric jump a little. Eric hissed through his teeth and curled his fingers around the device, trying every which-way to pry the damn thing off._ _

__"Yeah, good luck with that," Frank scoffed, tossing the newly-packed bag into the corner of the room and sitting on the end of the bed, flicking open an empty hand-gun and a running it through with a cleaning brush. "It's adamantium."_ _

__"Take. It. OFF," Eric demanded._ _

__"I'm sorry, bud. I really am. But I can't keep chasing off all these...these...surfer boys you keep bringing home."_ _

__Eric glared at his Dad, incredulous. "Dad. They're my FRIENDS. And congratulations because you already HAVE chased them off, along with pretty much everyone else I've ever tried to hang out with. You know Suzy in C-23? She won't even come outside to get her mail until she knows you're gone. She was my tutor, Dad. My fucking TUTOR."_ _

__Frank scrubbed more intently at the barrel of the gun, his brow furled._ _

__"You're not *protecting* anyone. You're just a bully with a fucking alpha complex. You can't even walk by some random guy on the street without becoming somehow convinced that he wants to whip out his dick and mount Daddy right in front of you."_ _

__Frank stabbed the air with the brush, pointing it in Eric's direction. His voice was a vehement hiss. "You *shut* your mouth."_ _

__"Oh yeah, because you're the Punisher. The big, bad Punisher. Well, congrats, Dad. Any chance I had of a normal life is fucked because of your pissing matches."_ _

__"You think that's what this is about?" Frank shot back, his neck stiffening, teeth bared. "Tell you what sonny-boy, there are some real nasty shit-heads out there that would love nothing more than to turn you into a little fuck-hole, you know that?"_ _

__"Oh, grow up---"_ _

__"A fucking FUCK-HOLE!--- that they can stick their dick into and breed till you're nothing but a femboy whore looking for your next fix."_ _

__"Dad, I'm not an omega!" Eric retorted, throwing his arms out. "I'm not some mindless breeding-machine. You're worrying for nothing."_ _

__"You better pray your Daddy didn't hear you say that. And you're sure as hell not an alpha," Frank said, shaking his head._ _

__"Oh, that's real nice, Dad, you xenophobic prick. If someone doesn't fit your ideal, they just can't possibly exist, is that it? You know, Dad, I *been* fucked. I *like* being fucked."_ _

__Frank froze. "What."_ _

__Eric's mouth had run completely dry, his tongue sticking to the inside of his mouth, his heartbeat pounding in his temples. His common sense was flashing a big red "WARNING" sign in his head, but he ignored it. "Yeah. Okay? I've been fucked. I *like* being fucked, you know that? I don't have a heat or a rut to blame it on, either. Nope. I'm just a horny slut looking for my next ride on a big fat cock." Eric slapped a hand on the seat of his ass for effect._ _

__Frank sneered a laugh out of the side of his face. "You're a shift-faced liar."_ _

__"Prove it," Eric said, his eyes lighting with a fire that had been boiling towards the surface for years._ _

__Frank tapped his nose. "I'd smell him on you," he murmured._ _

__Eric scoffed. "Sure. You know Dad, I think that bullet shattered more of your brain than you realize."_ _

__Frank shrugged. "I don't give a shit whether or not you believe it." He nodded his head towards Eric's right arm, again, signifying the bruise. "But if Rory touches you again I'm going to string him up by his balls before I feed him to my dogs. You tell him I said that."_ _

__Eric's face flushed. His hands were shaking so badly he could no longer grip the metal bracket around his leg. He ran a hand roughly through his hair and stood up. He looked down at the man still methodically scraping the residue from his revolver, his mouth parted, trying to formulate an insult worthy of the monstrosity he saw before him. "I'm done wasting my breath," he hissed, and stalked off down the hallway._ _

__"See you around, kid," Frank called after him as the apartment door slammed shut._ _

__* * * * *_ _

__Matt knew Frank saw him standing in the doorway, one foot resting up on the frame, his arms crossed disapprovingly in front of him, sadness crossing his pouty lips. "You're too harsh on him," he murmured softly._ _

__Frank's shoulder's slumped, his breath catching in his throat. "Not taking chances, Red," he stated matter-of-factly, and Matt listened to the familiar "shnik...shnik..." of the wire brush moving though barrel._ _

__"That was a tracking device you just put on our son."_ _

__Frank chuckled softly. "Your talent always amazes me, you know that?" The electromagnetic pulse of the silver ring must have sent out a sonar wave of energy that only Matt could pick up._ _

__Matt moved in, one hand snaking around the back of Frank's head, cradling his face in his chest. Frank must have been mostly gray-haired, now, judging by the scraggly dusting of hair on the nape of his neck. His face, rough and calloused, told the story of a hard life of immeasurable losses. His face was still chiseled, though, not unlike the Romanesque statues that peppered Central Park, belying his age._ _

__Frank's tongue flicked out, scooping up the St. Christopher medallion that hung around Matt's neck and tugging Matt down into his arms._ _

__Matt's eyes fluttered and he took off his glasses to press their faces together, reveling in the intimacy of their scents intermingling. "He isn't helpless, you know," he murmured, slipping the medal out of Frank's mouth and planting a feathery kiss on his forehead._ _

__"I know," Frank said, sounding not half convinced. "Sometimes I wish he was." He played with Matt's necklace, absentmindedly batting at it with a finger. "Maybe then I could protect him better."_ _

__Matt frowned. "You mean if Eric was an omega."_ _

__Frank shook his head. "No." Frank's hand's traveled to Matt's narrow hips and trailed up his ribcage, tracing each muscle, his fingers gliding smoothly over Matt's velvety-soft skin. "I mean if he weren't a stubborn, pig-headed little shit."_ _

__A shiver raced through Matt's spine as Frank reached his nipples, his thumbs pressing into each soft peak under the fabric of his dress shirt._ _

__Matt pushed against Frank's chest and let in a quick rush of air to his lungs. "I should go after him." But Frank had already started on the shirt buttons, expertly freeing Matt's smooth chest, pushing the undershirt up over his collarbone, attacking a nipple with his mouth._ _

__Electric shockwaves flowed through him and Matt instinctively arched into Frank as he slipped the hardening peak into his mouth and sucked freely. Matt's breath hitched, his legs parting willingly, his hips settling down onto the growing bulge in Frank's camo fatigues. Matt raised his hands over his head, allowing Frank to peel off Matt's top layer of clothes, exposing his soft, smooth, muscles. He shivered at the sudden rush of cold air and instinctively leaned into the heat of Frank's body._ _

__Frank caught the seat of Matt's dress pants and pulled him onto the bed, rolling Matt underneath of him as he suckled Matt's nipple, dipping the tip of his tongue into the opening there, lapping up his own saliva. Matt produced a throaty moan and spread his hands across Frank's wide back, his fingernails trailing down each faded scar._ _

__"Owh!" He jumped a little when Frank set his teeth down onto his skin, trapping his nipple in his firm lips. He felt the heat rush to his face and he turned his head aside. "You're worse than the baby was," he muttered._ _

__A possessive growl rattled through Frank's throat and he bit down a little harder._ _

__Matt raised his hand to give Frank a warning slap on the side of his face, but Frank was faster, catching his hand and pinning it to his side._ _

__"You like this, Red." Frank teased. "You like it when I suck you, here."_ _

__"Come on," Matt groaned, protesting. His thighs rubbed against Frank's hips and Frank growled._ _

__"That's no way to get me to stop." Frank bumped harder, crushing their groins together, his fatigues allowing for Frank's growing erection to bulge out and rub against Matt's dress-pants._ _

__Matt whimpered, pathetically. The Affect made resistance a near impossibility, his body happily responding to the onslaught of sexual desire radiating from his husband, his alpha._ _

__"Come on, Red." Frank teased, flicking a thumb over the zipper of Matt's trousers. "Show me what you got."_ _

__Matt groaned, squirming against the warm, familiar weight of Frank on top of him, their rough breaths moving their bellies up and down, making Matt dizzy from the drive and the scent. He bit down on his bottom lip and closed his eyes as he pushed out of his pants, dipping a hand under his boxer-briefs, his aching erection springing freely out. Without word or warning, Frank's head was down there, wetting the head of his cock, his wide, skilled tongue making laps around the ridge._ _

__A cry caught in Matt's throat and his head hit the pillow behind him as Frank started a slow bobbing rhythm, moving Matt's curved shaft in and out of his warm mouth. "Baby," he groaned, both hands spread flat against Matt's pectorals, his middle fingers pinching Matt's peaked nipples. Frank easily swallowed, sticking Matt's head down his throat with a satisfied hum. His lips clamped around the base of Matt's long dick, forming an air-tight seal, and Frank sucked inward. Matt's hips arched upwards, his ass muscles clenching, drawing the top sheet of the bed up with them._ _

__Frank let out a soft laugh. "You're greedy," he mused. "You want something up there, too?" Matt squirmed and his foot kicked out in response, sending his glasses tumbling to the floor. Frank's head came up and he released Matt from his mouth, his hand taking over in a slow, tantalizing rhythm._ _

__Frank collected some of Matt's precum, slicking it between his fingers as his hand disappeared between Matt's legs._ _

__Matt's omega instinct sprang to life, wetting himself for Frank's fingers, the pink muscles of his entrance clenching down around the welcome intrusion. Matt's mouth dropped open as he produced a happy moan, and Frank buried his fingers inside to the last knuckle. Frank's tongue trailed up to Matt's navel. He pressed his full lips to the warm skin and reveling in Matt's ragged breaths as his soft belly moved up and down erratically, jabbing his fingers into the soft muscles of Matt's hole._ _

__Matt was dizzy with need. He squirmed away, pulling Frank's fingers from his used entrance, a trail precum and spit rolling out. He turned onto his stomach, on his knees, presenting himself to Frank even as he buried his face in the pillow. Frank put a hand on either side, spreading Matt, and Matt's face was burning red with embarrassment. Even after 20-some years of this, having Frank's cock buried inside of him seemed taboo. Perhaps it was the Catholic upbringing._ _

__Matt heard the zipper of Frank's pants and felt the wetness of Frank's cock as he lined it up with Matt's hole. His breath hitched and he let out a small squeak as Frank pushed in, the head protruding with a purposeful shove. Matt's muscles blocked him out at first, and he let slip a stifled gasp, but on the second thrust the head of his dick popped inside with just one sweet slice of painful resistance before Matt's muscles responded to draw him in._ _

__Frank's head lolled back, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed dryly. "So...fucking...good." Frank eased in the rest of the way, Matt's muscles clamping down, squeezing him tightly, greedily pulling at the swollen shaft._ _

__His hips locked on to Matt's, Frank's thumbs finding the perfect grooves along Matt's back to hold him down with, listening to the lyrical chiming of the Christopher medallion that swung in rhythm with Frank's thrust._ _

__Matt's cock was straining upward for attention, slick with precum and bobbing between his legs. Frank grabbed hold, reveling in the little moan Matt couldn't help but let slip, his palm brushing against matt's testicles as he squeezed the very juice out of him._ _

__Soon, Matt was coming. Frank leaned against the muscles of his back, his eyes fluttering closed as the cum splashed onto the sheets with a sound like raindrops. As Matt rode out the wave, he moaned and his muscles instinctively clamped in around Frank's dick, latching on and drawing out a long spurt of pre-cum that coated the inside of his walls. Frank gave him a few merciless shoves as the muscles sucked him in to his very hilt and shuddered as his own orgasm peaked. He released inside of Matt with a loud groan, his back going rigid, his penis twitching inside of Matt, bearing down on him as his cum spilled into him._ _

__Frank let out a puff of air when his head cleared, his hands sliding from Matt's hips, pulling out gently and tumbling onto the bed._ _

__Matt drew him in, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, collecting whatever was left of Frank into the crescent of his arms, his eyes closed, satiated, peaceful._ _

__Frank kissed his neck, one arm falling over Matt's chest._ _

__After they had both caught their breath, Matt murmured against the top of Frank's head, "We'd better go find Eric."_ _

__* * * * *_ _

__"Fucking lovely," Eric groaned. Just as he made his way to the parking garage, it began to rain. He pulled his hoodie over his newly-washed and styled hair, kicking at the stones that dared to be in his way. He was headed to Darus'* place first. (*see Burn From a Bright Star, ch4) If anyone would know how to get the tether off from around his ankle, it would be him._ _

__He jabbed his hand into his pocket and plucked his keys out as he approached the Blazer._ _

__He heard soft footsteps behind him and curiously glanced back, careful not to make it obvious that he was looking. It was a man in a long black overcoat--not unusual attire for New York, but definitely out-of-place in 70 degree weather--about 6 or 7 yards behind. Eric popped open the door to the Blazer and slipped easily inside._ _

__"Mr. Castle?" Eric blinked. The man in the black coat had strode up beside him, planting a gloved hand on the inside of the Blazer door. Eric glanced down at him--the guy was tall but Eric's Blazer had a custom 19" lift. He felt secure in the beat-up SUV, like maybe Eric looked taller than he actually was, like if anything came of it, he could maybe take the guy and so he would think twice. "Eric?," The man in black reiterated._ _

__"Yeah." Eric pushed the keys into the console, and turned._ _

__"My name is Gillum," the man said. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute."_ _

__"Probably not," answered Eric wisely. Anyone that was not his friend and that knew the Punisher was his Dad was probably not healthy company to keep. He punched it into gear, the large engine roaring to life._ _

__"I just need a moment of your time."_ _

__Eric grasped the handle of the driver's door and pulled. The man stood fast, filling the space between Eric and the door. "I'm sorry--I think you've got the wrong person." Eric tried the door again, more forcefully this time, and his heart leapt into his throat. It would not budge._ _

__"I'm sorry, Mr. Castle..." the man said._ _

__In a flash of silver brilliance, the barrel of a semi-automatic handgun met Eric's chin, the cold metal pressing into his skin._ _

__"...but you are exactly who I am looking for."_ _

__

__* * * * *_ _


	3. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric is "interviewed" by the agents of a particular organization.

Just another beautiful New York Day. Kane loved watching the people on the sidewalk as he drove past, breathing in the fall smells of cinnamon coffee and fresh bread as mothers ran pushing their young in strollers, and busy people shuffled about. There was, of course, the occasional hobo gracing a park bench, talking to themselves as he passed by, but hey. They were New Yorkers too. 

New York City was the perfect snow-globe community. That is to say, one could watch all the possibilities of life unfold before them in a fifteen-block radius. And boy, was life a fucking bowl of sunshine and sparkles. He always parked at the very top level when he arrived at work. It was worth the extra drive. He traded the likelihood of more bird shit on his car for a panoramic view of the city that so fascinated him. How could one place simultaneously seduce a saint like the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and rope in a lowlife like Frank Castle? What were the chances?

Kane took the elevator down to the basement level, where all the action happened. He checked his hazy reflection in the brushed metal walls of the shaft and jutted his chin outward, straightening his tie. 

"Morning, Sara." He chirped, strolling into the concrete-walled office.

"Mr. Dockett." The girl with the thick rimmed glasses gave him a sharp nod. A thick glass door slid open with a hiss and he stepped through, enjoying a few surprised looks from the 'basement crew'. It wasn't often Kane got his hands dirty. Wasn't _that_ dirty, Kane thought to himself. What's a little honest, bare-handed work every now and then? Then again, his suit _was_ Brioni...

He sailed through to the metal detectors, eye-scanners and clearance checks and finally reached what the interrogators liked to call the "inner sanctum". He unclasped his watch and slid it off his wrist, emptying it into a metal tray. "Hey Rhodes," he called over to the man in a black suit and tie. "Status report on our guest." 

"He's been processed, stripped and cleaned. He's still in the detox tank." came the reply. 

"Oh, good," Kane sang, stepping into the cell. "Mind if I do the honors?"

"He had this on him." The suited man produced a slender silver hoop. 

Kane grasped the shiny metal ring, turning it in the light, examining the fine detail in the dim glow of the room. "Adamantium...nice. Looks like somebody does their homework."

"You can say that again. It took our techs nearly a half-hour to deactivate." 

Kane handed it back, turning to the large metal door in front of him, and nodded. With the push of a button the door opened, and Kane stepped inside. Both doors shut and locked behind him with a metal "clang-HISSSS" that reverberated in the concrete walls. The cell was long and narrow, with a metal shelf bolted into a cement wall, a toilet in the corner, and a clear tank constructed of 5-inch thick glass. On the shelf were a few folded towels and what he assumed were his esteemed guest's clothes--washed, dried and laid out. He peered down at the sleeping boy in the tank, his red hair clinging to his forehead and cascading down his face in wet tendrils. He admired the dusting of freckles on his cheeks and the dark mole just below his collarbone. 

This could not be the son of Frank Castle. Frank was the stuff of nightmares. A killer, a crooked vigilante with this own maniacal sense of "justice". To think that a rabid wolf like him could produce a red-headed angel like the one before him...? He looked closer and could see the other half of that equation shining through. Matt Murdock, the NY Lawyer with a squeaky-clean background…now how did he get mixed up with a lowlife like Frank? Frank had been on trial, once—before his faked death—and Matt had stepped up and volunteered to defend him. Volunteered! Nonetheless, the resultant factor of their intimate relationship was laying chest-high in a mixture of sterilized water and antimicrobial solution, snoring softly. 

Kane sniffed the air and frowned a little when he could not pick up on the kid's scent. There was a lot you could tell about an omega by their smell. He shook his head—must have been the acid bath they had given him when he arrived at the compound. Kane pulled up a cheap metal chair and crouched next to the kid, his hand hovering mere inches from his face, wondering if he felt as soft as he looked. Absentmindedly, his tongue swept across his bottom lip.

"Mr. Castle," he murmured softly. The boy did not stir. He scooted closer, the metal chair raking against the concrete floor with a horrid "skreek". "Eric?"

Eric's dark eyelashes fluttered and a small moan escaped his lips. 

"Come on, kid, time to wake up." Kane tucked his curled fingers under Eric's chin, lifting his head. Eric sighed, his lips parting, a groggy whimper escaping.

Fascination and arousal tingled up Kane’s spine. God, but the kid was beautiful. He didn't have a scent to go on, but nonetheless Kane admired the fine specimen before him. A sly grin spread across his lips. Maybe he should begin more interviews like this.

He pushed Eric's chin upward, exposing his elegant neck, and Eric's head lolled to one shoulder. Kane tapped his face with his open palm. "Eric!”, he snapped.

"Uh?!" The water sloshed in the tub as Eric's body suddenly lurched upward, long limbs squeaking against his glass prison. Eric's head shot up, his spine going suddenly stiff, eyes wide and face white. "Where--?" 

"Good morning," Kane began, pulling out a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. Eric pushed his back against the tub as if trying desperately to become one with it and drew his legs up to his chest. His sudden movement depleted the limited supply of energy the drugs had left him with. "God," he moaned, cradling his head. 

"That is the Ulzartam," Kane informed him, snapping a glove on. He stood up and loomed over the boy in the tub. "You will want to take it slow. You will be very dizzy for a while yet. You've been out for about 10 hours."

"Where..." Eric muttered again. He began to shake, whether from fear or from the cold water soaking his lower half, Kane couldn't tell. Maybe it was both. Eric's eyes danced around the room in fright, looking as if his brain could not process the information it was taking in. When Kane tried to meet his gaze, Eric's eyes darted away. Kane sneered.

"Mr. Castle, My name is Kane."

Eric rubbed his eyes into focus, still avoiding eye contact. 

"You are safe," Kane said. 

Eric's doll-like face contorted into a sneer. "Where the fuck am I?"

"All in due time," Kane retorted. "We need to get you rinsed off and dressed, first." He reached for the shower head attached to the side of the tub and Eric jumped away. Kane couldn't help himself; his grin widened. Eric swallowed and looked away again. "What did you do to me?"

Kane scoffed. "Me? I didn't do anything, son. What was performed was a basic detox and screening—standard procedure, I assure you."

"I was kidnapped at gunpoint," Eric hissed. "Gunpoint!" 

Kane sighed. "Yes, that was unfortunate and the Agent involved has been adequately reprimanded." He pushed a plug, and the water began to drain. "Tell me if this is too hot," Kane added, turning on the hose. God he was going to enjoy this. 

"The fuck is _this_?" Eric held up his hands, staring at the pair of standard issue handcuffs adorning his wrists. 

"For your safety and protection," Kane stated, taking a page from the Agency handbook.

"Bullshit!" Eric thrashed around, the water splashing out of the tub, some of it landing on Kane's dress pants. "Take them off, now!" 

Kane raised both eyebrows. "Oh, my. They didn't tell me you would be so...exuberant. Still, I figured you'd be grateful to be free of that tracking device, at least."  
Eric got his legs underneath of himself and pushed upward, only to have one leg slip out and send him flopping back down into the tank, ass-first. Kane stifled a grin and turned the water on.  
"First place on the swim team in high school, huh? I can see why." He tapped the head of the hose on Eric’s knee and Eric shoved away. The water only accentuated Eric's muscular physique, his lean legs glistening in the spray, the droplets shimmering under the dim light of the cell. Eric glared up at him through his bangs with a look that told Kane he was plotting his slow demise.

Kane chuckled and turned the hose up high, dousing his face. Eric coughed, shielding himself as he choked on the water. 

"Hey!" Agent Gillum stalked through the door, hands on his hips. "Chief said to interrogate him, not drown him!"

Kane pouted and turned off the spray, sliding a look over to his peer. "You're absolutely no fun, you know that, Gill?" He turned and grabbed the towels behind him, tossing them onto the body of the struggling kid who was now clinging to the tub.

"I'm going to grab some coffee up on 14-Alpha-J. Page me when he's ready." He snapped the gloves off and tossed them on the cot, reaching the doorway in two quick strides. He could hear his co-worker apologizing softly to the kid as he left. That was good, he thought. Start the good-cop-bad-cop routine early and solidify that relationship before even getting the kid into the interrogation room.

He knew the goal was to get Daddy Frank to come after his red-headed spawn. It would sure have been an easy way to get that murdering S.O.B. off the streets for good. Daredevil would no doubt be with him, heroically rescuing their captive son, and there were contingencies in place for that occurrence. 

Still, Kane thought to himself, it'd be nice to have the whole family together.

* * * * * 

Eric glanced down at the handcuffs surrounding his wrists and squirmed uncomfortably in the cheap metal chair. His eyes followed the chain that attached to the cuffs. It trailed halfway across the wide metal table in front of him and disappeared down a hole in the center. 

A hand slid a styrofoam cup into his reach. It looked clear and had no obvious smell. _Could be water. ___His eyes narrowed. _Could be more drugs. ___

__“I am sorry for the way we had to bring you in, Mr. Castle.”_ _

__Eric’s eyes focused on the cold metal surface of the table, his eyes dark and lifeless. He shrugged his shoulders, pushing the hood of his sweatshirt further over his head._ _

__The suited man—Eric didn’t bother to care which one—slid into the seat across from him and produced a heavy sigh. “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but things will continue to go smoothly from here on out if you could just give us some information.”_ _

__Eric snorted. “And if I don’t talk?”_ _

__“Well,” the agent muttered, taking a sip from his coffee cup. “We are pretty sure you will, once you hear what we have to say.”_ _

__Eric’s face disappeared into his arms._ _

__“That was a pretty nasty bruise on your arm,” the agent remarked._ _

__Eric’s eyes flashed and he just prayed his head was ducked low enough to hide it. He wondered, then, what else the people who had stripped him down had looked at—what parts of his body had been seen, had been touched, and by how many. He forced a dry swallow._ _

__“Did your Dad do that to you?”_ _

__Eric’s head snapped forward, his gleaming eyes sparking instant hate for the man across from him. It was the first guy—Gillum—the one who pointed the gun at him. The one who ordered him out of the vehicle as one of his buddies rushed up and injected Eric with whatever made him pass out. And now he was accusing his father—of what? Abusing him? “NO, he didn’t.” Eric snapped._ _

__Agent Gillum flashed him a tight-lipped smile, leisurely sipping on his coffee. “Has he ever done anything like that before?”_ _

__“Are you deaf, you mouth-breather? I said he _didn’t ___do it.”_ _

___Gillum leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the table and folding his hands in his lap. “Who did then. You get in a fight at school? Things get a little rough at practice? Or maybe you have a…significant other?”_ _ _

___Eric leaned in, his mouth parting slowly, his mouth forming each syllable separately, “Go. To. Hell.”_ _ _

___Gillum shrugged. “Well, you really are talkative, aren’t you?” He shook his head and smiled lightly, one finger tracing the edge of his cup. He noticed Eric glancing at the styrofoam cup next to him and nodded. “It’s just water. I promise. You must be thirsty.”_ _ _

___Eric swiped his bound hands across the table, sending the cup clattering onto the floor and a spray of water splashing Gillum’s nice suit._ _ _

___Gillum’s hands went up and he glanced down in sheer disdain. “Nice,” he shot back. “Real mature.”_ _ _

___“Just mature as insinuating that my Dad beats me.”_ _ _

___“We have to explore all avenues, here. I am concerned for your safety.”_ _ _

___“Says the man who was pointing a gun at me a few hours ago.”_ _ _

___“Eleven hours ago,” Gillum corrected. “And you just keep talking.”_ _ _

___Eric’s head dipped back down again, biting his bottom lip, his anger palpable._ _ _

___“Okay,” Gillum switched positions, leaning his elbows onto the table, his hands going back to their folded position, fingers laced together. “The truth is, we need your help, Eric.”_ _ _

___Eric scraped a shoe against the cold concrete floor, bumping his toe against the leg of the table._ _ _

___“Eric, your father…well…he is not a good man.”_ _ _

___Eric swept a wisp of auburn hair from his eyes, keeping them focused downward at nothing in particular, trying to drown out the voice of the man sitting across from him._ _ _

___“I’m talking about your Father, Frank Castle. He is dangerous, Eric. He has harmed people. Killed people. Surely you don’t agree with that?”_ _ _

___Eric recalled the yearly visit to his sibling’s graves—yellow tulips for Lisa (Dad said yellow was her favorite color) and a new remote control car for Frank Jr. Eric would sit at the base of the stone monuments, picking off dead leaves and brushing away dirt, as his Dad would crack open the faded, worn cover of Lisa’s favorite book and read. “One batch, two batch, penny and dime…” Daddy Matt would lay a full bouquet of red roses down for Claire Castle as Eric laid his head to the cool stone and listened. At first, he didn’t understand what the stones were for. His Dad had a whole other family out there, a whole other life that Eric wasn’t a part of, could never be a part of, would never understand. When he was deemed old enough, his Dad explained that some very bad men took Eric’s step-Mommy and two siblings away and that they would never come back. He said that he loved them very much, and that they were still here, just that Eric could not see them. Then Frank would curl his calloused, ragged fingers around Eric’s hand and press his palm to his chest. “They’re in there,” he would say. “And the bad men can never take them away ever again.” Eric recalled the feel of his father’s rhythmic, steady heartbeat against his open hand. “And I promise…I promise, Eric, to always protect you and Daddy and never, ever, let anything happen to you.” It took Eric a few more years after that to realize the redness rimming his Dad’s eyes were tears._ _ _

___“Of course he doesn’t agree with it.” The looming white-haired man entered from a door that Eric could not see from where he was sitting. What had he called himself…Kane? He pulled out a chair from the corner of the room, dragging it behind Eric. It made a deafening “screetch”. Eric winced. “He is a good kid, Gill. Smart, too.” He slapped a file folder on the table in front of him. He let out a snicker when he glanced down at the dark splatters darkening his partner’s shirt. “And a good aim, I take it.” He landed in the seat, his hand jutting out, capturing Eric’s chin in a firm grip and forcing his head upward. “Isn’t that right, sweet pea?”_ _ _

____A memory of his Dad with a white-faced gray pit bull on his lap flashed through his mind. “Abby,” Frank cooed into her ear, stroking her massive head as she stared up at him with cloudy eyes, giving his Dad's face a slobbery lick. “My sweet pea.” ____ _ _

____Eric shoved the large man’s hand away and went back to kicking the table. “Just keep talking, guys.” He muttered. “You’re dead already.”_ _ _ _

____Kane’s eyebrows raised. “Oh. You’re expecting Daddy to come rescue you, huh?” He rubbed his thumb over his nose, nodding. “Well, that’s good. That’s good, because, that would just make my job so much easier.”_ _ _ _

____Eric swallowed hard, again finding no moisture for relief. His hands were beginning to shake a little and his stomach growled. He slid his hands off the table and pressed them against his belly as if to hide the sound._ _ _ _

____“Gill, I’m ashamed of you! You didn’t get the kid a sandwich or something?”_ _ _ _

____“Hell no. He probably would have thrown that at me, too.”_ _ _ _

____The man named Kane flipped his hand up dramatically, waving it at the door. “Well, go get him one.” He glanced at Eric. “You’re not vegan, are you?” He didn’t bother waiting for the reply that obviously wasn’t coming, and shot back at Gillum, “Get him a turkey sub from Corvona’s. Hell, get me one too. Extra pickles. No mayo.”_ _ _ _

____“You sure…?” Gillum glanced back, worry—or was that distrust?—crossing his face._ _ _ _

____Kane waved again. “Go, go, go. Yes. We will be fine.” As his partner left, Kane scooted closer, his disgustingly familiar hand creeping its way back under Eric’s chin. A grin crawled across his lips, his dark eyes staring intently into Eric's. “Besides...It’ll give us more time to know each other.”_ _ _ _

____* * * * *_ _ _ _


	4. Murder Spelled Backwards is "Castle"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Matt scout out their son, while Eric is interrogated by a nasty member of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: Graphic depictions of violence, depictions of dead/mutilated bodies. Non-consensual physical abuse. Non-consensual sexual abuse. Non-penetrative sexual abuse.

"FUCK!!!"

 

The GPS reader went sailing through the air, exploding into a million shattered pieces as it hit the metal door. Matt jumped at the sound, his head turning towards Darus.

 

Darus shrugged, slumping down into the ragged office chair, leaning away from the rampage that he knew Frank was about to unleash. “I-I don’t know. Maybe he found a way to take it off?”

 

“Found a WAY?” Frank bellowed. “No. No, Darus. Someone took it off him.” Frank paced, blowing out wild breaths of air, balling his short hair on the back of his neck into a tight fist and pulling until there was blood.

 

“We will find him,” Matt assured him. “We should check Rory’s place first. Then the beach.”

 

“No, no, no, you don’t understand, Red. That thing has a pressurized locking mechanism. It’s not like he just slipped it off.”

 

“Then maybe it’s the tracker itself that’s the problem?”

 

Darus gave a disheartened sigh and shook his head. “No. The program is right here, on my computer, too. And it’s up and running. It’s registering error code 945-K.”

 

“What does that mean?,” Matt asked.

 

“Device disabled by non-authorized source,” Darus murmured hesitantly.

 

Another few choice heavy objects went sailing to the wall, erupting into a deafening clang. Frank let out a pained roar, his head collapsing in his hands. Matt reached out a hand, daring to touch Frank’s shoulder. It produced a silent shudder, rippling through Frank’s body. “I can’t---,” he choked, “I can’t lose him, Red. He’s our boy.”

 

Matt smoothed his hand across Frank’s shoulders, drawing him in, pressing their foreheads together. Matt thought then about all the words he wanted to spew out at his husband—it was HIS fault Eric was gone. If Frank hadn’t made Eric’s life a militaristic, friendless hell. If Frank didn’t push so hard or yell so much or stalk him when he was with his schoolmates. If he hadn’t held him down, forced him to wear the tracker, which Matt could only imagine compounded the sum of Eric’s anger, hurt, and frustration over the years. He swallowed sharply, realizing it could all come out in a mad slur of words, realizing that none of it would do any good. There would be time for words later. But for this moment, for right now... “We’re going to find him,” he said stiffly.

 

“I’ve got something!” Darus piped up suddenly, his eyes glued to the screen.

 

Matt felt Frank’s head snap up.

 

“It’s the secondary tracer I installed after-market. It’s dead, but it’s giving off a weak electromagnetic signal that I can use to determine its location off the nearest cell tower.”

 

“And?” Frank pushed.

 

“It’s giving me the coordinates for a tower just outside east NY.”

 

“WHERE.”

 

“Well, the nearest building to the tower is…” Darus gave a dumfounded pause before reading the information before him. “S.H.E.I.L.D. Headquarters.”

 

“Frank,” Matt began, giving his arm a hard but futile, tug. Frank broke the hold, and Matt could hear him reaching for the leather duffel and a few high-powered weapons. He stacked them up behind the small jeep that was parked inside, silently going to work on the battle-plan that was no doubt forming in his head.

 

“Frank,” Matt repeated. He felt along the long row of counters against the far wall until his fingers came to the familiar feel of soft, worn leather. He grabbed up his Daredevil suit, hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt. “Frank, you can’t go in there. They’ll arrest you on-sight.” Frank had been doing well to avoid the multiple charges of kidnapping, false imprisonment, torture, murder, espionage and Use Of Deadly Force, to name a few. S.H.I.E.L.D., as far as Matt knew, had given up in lieu of sacrificing a team of their agents to reign Frank in.

 

“They have to get ahold of me first,” Frank growled, kneeling in front if the duffel, jamming a semi-automatic rifle in.

 

Matt blew out a ragged breath, reaching behind him for something. “You know I love you, right?”

 

Frank stopped packing momentarily to stare incredulously at his husband. “What?”

 

“Just answer the question. You know I love you.”

 

“Red, not now, this isn’t---“

 

“Answer me!,” Matt barked.

 

“Yeah,” Frank breathed, searching Matt’s eyes.

 

“No matter what,” Matt said, reaching his hand around his back once more.

 

“Agh!” Frank hissed, his hand going up to his neck. The momentary stabbing pain gave way to a tingling sensation and Frank rose to his feet. “The hell?” He slid his shocked gaze from the spatter of blood dotting his fingers to Matt’s face. “Red, what did you…?” The last word slurred a little as he stumbled, his knees hitting the cold cement floor.

 

Matt zipped up his suit and slid the hood on, tossing the vial in the trashcan and glaring at Darus. “You tie him up.” He shoved a large coil of rope with his foot and it slid to the center of the room.

 

“Wh-me?”  Darus sputtered, his hands on his chest. “Dude, I’m just the techy! I, I can’t----He’d kill me!”

 

“ _I'll_  kill you,” Matt ground out, shaking his bully stick in Darus’ direction.

 

“Matt,” Frank grumbled, using the last of his strength to pull pathetically at his leather pant-leg.

 

“You take care of him,” Matt said. "Promise me."

 

“Alright, okay, I promise,” Darus relented, picking up the rope and gingerly making his way towards Frank.

 

Frank shoved him away clumsily before collapsing in a heap on the floor, out cold.

 

Matt let in a slow breath through his nostrils and disappeared through the metal door, out into the city daylight.

 

The light would prove problematic. Even underneath Matt’s red-paned mask, the saturation messed with his sonar. He couldn’t be quite as fast, or judge the shadows as well, but damned if he was going to play outfielder while Frank blew up the S.H.I.E.L.D. building and gave those draconian pricks even more reason to litigate.

 

With any luck, he would reach the headquarters within the hour.

 

* * * * *

 

Eric stared down at the pictures as they slid into his view.

 

[A man with ejected brains spilling out across a tile floor. His eyes were bulgy and blue, and what was left of his nose trailed down and flapped over his chin.] Eric shuddered.

 

[Two men, one black, one white. Disemboweled. Legs, gone. Their heads hanging to either side.]

 

[In the third picture, no person. Just a pool of coagulated blood adorned by one blown-off leg.]

 

“ENOUGH.” He forced the pictures away with this bound hands, burying his face in his sweatshirt. “ _I’ve seen enough_.”

 

Eric could feel the hot breath of the man leaning in, his face hovering just inches from Eric’s. He shrank back into the hoodie as far as possible without being too obvious about it. “You sure?" Kane’s teasing tone turned into a growl. He dug into a file, producing more horrors, slapping them down flat on the table. “Chester Rivera, 42. Father of three. He was found in a dumpster with a rake driven five inches into his skull through both eye sockets. Brodie Demson, 26. Just got his G.E.D. His throat was sliced with a curved blade like a krambit. It nearly decapitated him. Buck Lengrin, 56—“

 

“They were all criminals,” Eric shot back. “Murders. Rapists. Abusers.”

 

“So they deserved to die?”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

Kane narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t have to.” His feet pounded back up on the table, one black shoe on top of the other. He sneered at Eric, placing a hand on his chin, continuing his long, uncomfortable eye contact. “You _are_ Daddy’s little boy, aren’t you?”

 

“My father and I have never seen eye-to-eye on things. But he is still my Dad. If this is some contrived way of getting me in on your little plan, you haven’t just underestimated me. You’ve underestimated who my parents are.”

 

Kane’s head tilted in blithe curiosity. “And you think they’re going to save you?”

 

“No,” Eric sneered, his arms crossing in front of his chest. A faint glimmer of confidence caused him to lift his face to the dim light of the room. “I think you’re going to let me go.”

 

Kane scoffed.

 

Eric shrugged. “How long is your shift today? You’ve got to sleep sometime. You won’t be doing much sleeping knowing my Dad is out looking for me. He is the big, bad Punisher, right? As soon as you realize I’m not going to help you bring my Dad in, you’re going to have to let me go.”

 

Kane methodically swept a thumb over his lips, his eyes continually locked on to his wards’ with a calculating coolness. “We destroyed the tracker, son. This compound is heavily fortified. It is comprised of seventy-three stories of 7-foot solid concrete and nuclear-grade glass. Surrounded by each floor are fifteen separate squads of twelve highly-trained strike operatives. And as for me, I’ve got an office here with a California king and full bar. So, to answer your question, I think I’ll sleep just fine tonight, thanks.”

 

Eric's expression didn't change. His eyes shifted downward, focusing on Kane's boots. “Then why is your foot shaking?”

 

Kane froze. Both feet on the table stilled, and he slowly slid them onto the floor. He chuckled softly. “Boy-golly, kid. You must think you’re untouchable.”

 

“I _think_ you’re out of options,” Eric corrected. “And being that this is S.H.I.E.L.D—“ (he smirked a little when Kane’s mouth opened slightly)”—your interrogation techniques on civilians—of which I am one—are very limited.”

 

Kane lowered his head, his chin nearly touching his tie, as he drew a slow, ragged breath. He stood up.

 

Eric bit his bottom lip and sucked it in quickly, hoping that Kane didn’t notice. The man towered over him like a wrathful god, and the chains on Eric’s wrists didn’t extend far enough for him to even get up from his seat, let alone fight back.

 

“Eric, I was so hoping you’d see the light.” Kane’s fingers went to his tie, systematically loosening it from around his neck. He strained his head to one side, cracking it, bone-on-bone. “And you’re here for the duration. As long as it takes.”

 

Eric instinctively slouched back again, his long legs crossing, back to playing the quiet mouse in hopes that the agent now looming above him would be satiated by the gesture.

 

“We didn’t bring you in as a detainee,” Kane continued, slipping off his well-tailored jacket and laying it across the empty chair in the corner. “You’re a decoy.”

 

Eric swallowed, but his mouth was parched and he searched for the Styrofoam cup of water before remembering he had thrown it at the nicer, much less reactive S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

 

“Any minute now, your Daddy is going to come marching in here to save his lost pup. I expect he’ll use a pack of C4 on the main entrance. He never was one for…subtlety.” Kane unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, folding them up to the bulge of his biceps without a wrinkle, as if he had done this a thousand times. Maybe more, Eric thought. “In the meantime, though, I would like to ask you a few…personal questions if I may.”

 

Eric snorted. _As if he had a choice._ He heard the faint “snick” of a lock being released and watched in confusion as the chains fell away from his wrists. Kane’s smooth, large hand wrapped around his fingers but Eric forced himself to refrain from pulling away when he saw the key. The handcuffs fell away soon after, and Eric sat back, rubbing his wrists. His sudden relief of not being bound to the large metal table clouded his wariness of the agent who was now making his way around behind him.

 

Kane wasted no time in pulling up on the heavy, bulky fabric of Eric’s sweatshirt, and he pushed his hips into the chair as he felt Eric react.

 

“What the hell?” A wave of panic shooting down his spine, Eric’s arms went rigid to his sides, restraining the hands beneath. In one swift movement, the chair was kicked out from under him and Eric fell, his ass hitting the cold floor, gravity taking over as the hoodie slipped off and out of his reach. The rush of the room's cool air crept over his back and Eric shivered. The feeling of weightlessness returned in the form of two muscular arms tearing him up from the floor and crushing his back to the slab of wall behind him. A pained cry escaped from the back of his sore, dry throat as the skin of his shoulder blades were shredded by the concrete wall.  His arms went up in a cross over his head as he instinctively defended his face. This was not the first time an alpha had harassed him—usually there was a short scuffle before the alpha got confused by his lack of “scent” and wandered off. Matt had done his duty and taught Eric some basic defense maneuvers, which Eric was scrambling to recall as his arms were captured by the rough hands and Kane dug his thumb into the exact print of the purple bruise on his bicep. Eric’s growl turned into a whine when it escaped his lips.

 

Kane’s face was right in his, again, staring the kid down, daring him to meet him in the eyes. Eric forced his body to relax, if for nothing else than to soothe the pain of being forcibly held down. “ _Look at me_ ,” Kane ground out, capturing Eric’s jaw.

 

Eric swallowed, dragging up one sticky ball of saliva into his mouth and projecting it as hard as he could into the man’s face. He was swiftly rewarded with a back-hand that sent his already dizzy head reeling. Kane’s arm clamped over his mouth, dragging Eric’s teeth along skin, forcing Eric’s mouth open as he exposed his neck. Eric’s muffled groan did nothing to ease the pressure and he flattened himself to the wall as Kane’s head disappeared from Eric’s distorted view.

 

Kane nosed Eric’s ear, likely smelling nothing but clean flesh and a hint of sweat. His hand dipped to Eric’s exposed stomach, fingers splaying wide over baby-soft skin. “You might not be one of us,” he growled in his ear. “But I bet your ass feels _just_ as nice.”

 

Eric would bite down but he could barely breathe at this point and his survival instinct had him kicking with futile imprecision at the man’s long legs. His lungs were out of air and his muscles were out of energy and the numb, wavering sensation returned to his head with a vengeance. His eyes closed as he let out a surrendering whimper.

 

Kane let up on his mouth, allowing much-needed air to rush back in, but his hands were still exploring Eric’s clenched stomach muscles with sickening fascination. “Your Daddy ever touch you like this?,” He taunted, his hot breath intruding on Eric’s ear. Eric’s eyes flashed with resent and disgust, threatening to have another go if he could muster the strength. Kane ignored it, dipping his hand lower, fingers smoothing over the light dusting of red hair that disappeared into the waistband of Eric’s pants. “I bet you he does. He is a sick man. I don’t smell anybody on you besides him.”

 

Eric found strength to wriggle against Kane’s touch, but it only brought the man’s hands further down and gave Kane a reason to chuckle gleefully. “I can change that for you, you know.”

 

“ _Sick_ … _fuck_ …” Eric managed, and the arm returned, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of expensive aftershave.

 

“I’m offering you my protection, here. I mean, it can’t be easy. A single guy like you, out on the streets at all hours of the night. I mean, anybody could just…” The intrusive hand dipped into the waistband of his pants, and in between Eric’s legs.

 

Eric hated himself for it, but a small tear squeezed out and rolled down the side of his cheek. He shuddered.

 

Kane’s eyebrows raised in obvious delight, setting wrinkles across his forehead. “Huh. Can it be?” He found a soft, round testicle and gently pulled at it, producing a soft groan from the back of Eric’s throat. “You’ve never had someone touch you here before, have you?”

 

Eric’s eyes bore a burning hole into the center of Kane’s upward glance.

 

A sadistic grin crept across the already thin lines of Kane’s mouth. “You _haven’t_. Oh how fascinating. That is very rare indeed.” He flicked a thumb over the head of Eric’s semi-erect cock and Eric’s hips bounced backwards as he choked down a sob. “It must have been hard growing up. Watching all of your breeding friends find love, at what, 16? 17? And poor Eric, here. With no heat cycle and no rut, and no one interested…” He swirled Eric’s newly emerged pre-cum around the hole, dipping a sharp finger-nail into the slit as Eric squirmed helplessly. “Must be lonely.”

 

Eric’s fist connected with Kane’s side, but Kane easily trapped it into a twisted hold and crushed their bodies together. Eric quaked as he felt the unmistakable form of Kane’s throbbing erection pressing against his thigh.

 

“I’m not so fickle,” Kane continued, one hand still firmly grasped around Eric’s member. “Men like me and your Dad…” Kane paused to give his shaft a good squeeze. Eric’s cock responded to the touch, hardening at each pulse, more pre-cum dripping out and wetting the inside of his boxer-briefs. “We like a challenge.”

 

“You’re nothing like him,” Eric rasped, still actively wriggling away from the man’s disgustingly familiar touch. His eyes were red-rimmed now, but burned with a fury that said it didn’t matter.

 

Kane chuckled softly. “I should hope not.” His touch softened, stroking down the length of Eric’s shaft, encouraging the fledgling erection into full bloom. “I’m going to breed you, Eric. Would you like that? Walking around with my scent hanging all over you? No one would dare to touch you. You could be free.”

 

“What is your _deal_?!,” Eric choked out. “You fucking alphas. Can’t keep it in your pants for two goddamn seconds…”

 

Kane pulled at Eric’s waistband, threatening to take them lower, to expose his aching cock. “Do you like that, ‘Mr. Castle’? Insulting me while I give you pleasure you’ve never known? There is more to come.” He shifted his hips, planting them firmly between Eric’s legs, shoving them apart for affect and knocking Eric’s ass against the wall.

 

“Fuck YOU.”

 

“Agent Dockett!” A voice boomed behind him.

 

The tall man went rigid and he slowly  released his hold on Eric with a sideways glance that promised they were nowhere _near_ finished.  Eric sneered and slid away from the wall, adjusting his pants and shirt.

 

Kane straightened his tie and formed a polite smile before turning around. “Hey, Gill,” he greeted. “We were just finishing up our little interview.”

 

“WERE you.” Gillum glanced at Eric. “You okay, kid?”

 

“Yeah,” Eric said, his voice shaky.

 

Gillum produced a brown paper bag and two paper cups, placing them down on the metal table.

 

Kane placed a hand behind the small of Eric’s back and Eric jumped.

 

“ _DON’T_ ,” Gillum barked. “I’ll do it.” He quickly took Kane’s place and ushered Eric back to the metal seat. Eric sat, his eyes tired, relieved to have the company of the less creepy agent once again. The cuffs returned, but looser this time, and he took a much-needed sip of the paper cup when it was presented to him. He swallowed hard, the relieving liquid coating his parched throat. It was iced tea, not that that mattered.

 

“I’d like to interrogate further,” Kane insisted. “Tomorrow. But let’s get him in a nicer room. Maybe, 10-Zeta-J? It’s a bit less like a prison and more like…a hotel room.”

 

Eric froze in his place, fighting back the urge to dry-heave, suddenly craving the comfort and shelter of his hoodie which lay crumpled on the floor.

 

“You honestly think I’m going to let that happen?,” Gillum ground out. “After what I just walked in on?”

 

Kane shrugged. “Yes, Gill. I do. You know as well as I do, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s none of your business how I conduct my interrogations.”

 

“I will bring this to Weston.”

 

“You go right ahead. Weston and I can discuss it over dinner at the Country Club.”

 

Gillum’s defeated frown told Eric that Weston was buddy-buddy with Agent Kane, here, and maybe an even bigger prick, though Eric found that doubtful. “I won’t be here tomorrow,” Eric muttered.

 

Both agents looked up at him.

 

“Care to extrapolate on that, Mr. Castle?,” Kane folded his arms across his chest with an amused grin.

 

Eric’s eyes slid over to meet Kane, only Kane, as he whispered, “You’ll be dead by then.”  

 


	5. Red to the Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The showdown between the Castles and S.H.I.E.L.D. comes to a gut-wrenching end.

Matt used the front door.

 

He was, after all, Daredevil. No one that anyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. should be afraid of. He searched the perimeter, taking extra time to scan over each heartbeat, settling on a few that were promising matches to Eric’s heartbeat. If Eric was here, it sure as hell wasn’t of his own volition, and there had better have been a damn good explanation from the agents involved.

 

Eric had been old enough to remember the last run-in his Dads had with the self-named “vigilante policing organization”; the time they had nearly succeeded in getting ahold of Frank. The last time Strike had formulated (errantly, Matt might add) to subdue Frank was during a political upheaval that threatened to topple the government’s already weak hold on the gang problem in Hell’s Kitchen. Frank had targeted then-major James Royce for ordering a hit on a rival crime syndicate’s three top families. Women and children were included targets, and the headlines the next morning read like Hell’s Kitchens own private little massacre. It was too close to home for Frank, who as Matt recalled, had dragged his tired ass home and explained to Matt what he had done. The Mayor was crooked, true, but Matt knew this would spell out trouble for Frank in exponential measures. And Matt could not protect him. Frank had executed a leading political figure over unsubstantiated claims that he was connected with the mob hits. Of course, Frank’s intel turned out to be true, but it was too late. S.H.I.E.L.D. had caught his scent and tracked him down within a week.

 

The long-reaching fingers of their self-made law closed in and when they opened, Frank had disappeared. S.H.I.E.L.D. harassed Matt at his apartment and even threatened to call Child Protective Services if they could prove that Matt had contact with Frank. Which of course, he didn’t. Worst four months of Matt’s existence.  No phone calls, no texts, no nothing. Matt had expected to come home and find something changed, an item moved, something to tell him that Frank had been there, that he was okay. Frank once told Matt he had no need to hide his identity—that he was who he was, plain and simple, and that was not something he should, or could, walk away from. Even if it shattered Matt’s heart into tiny, irreparable pieces.

 

Frank was no common vigilante. He was no common murderer, either. He wasn’t out to kill for the sole purpose of revenge…as much as Matt hated admitting it, it was almost too much to bear, bringing the criminals in, letting them live, only to see them back on the streets the next week. But it was the right thing to do—he held fast to that belief. Frank was just as stubborn in his reasoning for putting the bad-guys down. Frank’s way made sense; it was brutal, it was criminal, it was heart-wrenching, it was ideologically _wrong_. But it made sense.

 

Matt strode up to the front desk and snapped his baton down on the hard marble surface. The footsteps around him had slowed, and he could feel the eyes gawking. It wasn’t often a masked vigilante just popped in unannounced in the one place in the world that loved to put said vigilantes in prison indefinitely. The woman at the front desk jumped, her frizzy hair bouncing in surprise.

 

“Oh! Can I help you?”

 

Matt blinked, unsure of what to say, or how to start out. Internally, he was slapping himself.   _Get it together, man, you’re a lawyer for Pete’s sake!_ He straightened his back, set his jaw, and spoke. “Where is my son?”

 

The woman’s eyelashes fluttered incredulously. “I-I’m sorry, who?”

 

The soft, distant buzz of a radio going off overhead made Matt’s focus drift upward. A soft mumble into the receiving end of the radio. “ _Yeah it’s him, let Dockett know he’s here.”_

 

Matt tapped his fingers impatiently on the stone surface. He turned back to the dumbfounded desk attendant. “Who is Dockett?”

 

“Agent Dockett?,” She clarified. “Oh, he isn’t in his office right now. But I can take a message, and he can—“

 

“Don’t bother,” Matt shot back, scaling the marble steps behind her, his sonar pinpointed for the radio-wearer. He cleared the looming 50-foot banister in four quick leaps.

 

 “What is this guy, fucking par-courer?” The radio agent rasped into his mic.

 

“Thank you,” Matt snapped as he tore the radio away from the agent, who was now clinging to the railing for dear life. Matt had him by the seat of his pants, dangling over the 50-foot drop. He couldn’t stop a smirk from sliding across his lips as people below gasped and pandemonium ensued. He pushed the receiver and ground out, “I WANT MY SON,” in the darkest, deepest voice he could muster.

 

Strike teams mobilized within seconds, their filed footsteps rushing through the corridors, weapons drawn, shields in-place. Matt dropped the agent on the hard tile, his hand going to his bully-stick, cracking it in two.

 

“Drop the weapons!”, The soldier in front ordered.

 

“Don’t make me ask again,” Matt ground out. “Because I won’t be wasting my words.” He flicked the batons sideways and two long metal spikes snaked out, their electrified rods snapping in lightning-blue flashes.

 

The first man advanced, his rifle more powerful than his kicks, apparently, as Matt brought the rod down on his leg, snapping the bone easily. The man bellowed as he shot up into the air, the force of the break re-directing his aim. A few bullets hit the ceiling, and Matt ducked low, covering himself with crossed arms as glass shards cascaded down on everybody. The next two were a tag-team—after all, it’s hard to rush someone on a stairwell—and Matt easily flipped them over his shoulders, their armored bodies falling onto the banister with a simultaneous “thump” .

 

The next two were more hesitant, mere rookies, Matt calculated, their hearts thumping in their chests so quickly that they sounded like one, long, continuous drumline. Matt raised his hands over his head, snapping the two rods together, sending flashes of light like sparklers down on himself. “I can do this all day!”

 

“Dad?,” a voice shouted down at him. Matt glanced up to detect Eric, a few yards away from him, surrounded by agents.

 

A booted foot came down hard on his leg, sending him to the floor. The same foot swept the electrified batons out of his reach and sent them clattering down the steps. He could hear the pained shout of protest from Eric, and stumbled towards the sound. “Stay DOWN,” a gravely voice said. He felt a heavy sole on the small of his back, crushing him to the floor.

 

“It’s okay, Eric,” Matt shouted back. “I’m alright. Are _you_ alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Eric’s voice was shaky, uncertain.

 

“Let’s continue this family reunion in my office, shall we?,” another voice chimed in, silvery and deep. Matt knew he recognized it from somewhere but couldn’t quite pinpoint the recollection. He heard Eric’s voice as he struggled with the tall man and they disappeared out of his range, through a closed door.

 

Matt was swept to his feet, hands cuffed behind his back. “You arresting me?,” he interrogated as he was led in the direction Eric and the strangers went.

 

“Nope,” said the gruff voice. “But I can’t have you messing up my men, now can I?”

 

Matt shrugged. “Fair enough.”

 

The cuffs came off as soon as they reached the office door. It was elaborate and overdone, judging from the spacious echoes that were absorbed by the hardwood furnishings. “Eric,” he said, sweeping his son into his arms. He felt Eric’s back stiffen. Matt smiled softly. It was not “cool”, he supposed. But Matt had been sick over finding him so he whispered, “This is what you get for worrying me sick.”

 

“Please,” said the tall, suited man, gesturing to some chairs. “Have a seat.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Matt growled, glaring at the man through his red-paned mask. He put a hand on Eric’s shoulder, leading him towards the open doorway. The armored Strike team closed the gap, falling in line and shutting out the exit.

 

“Out of my way.”

 

“It’s okay,” Kane said, as if Matt _needed_ permission. “Let them go.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Matt grumbled sarcastically. He pushed his way through. Eric following closely behind after flipping is middle finger—and a triumphant smile—to Kane.

 

Kane’s eyes narrowed.

 

* * * * *

 

Eric hadn’t yet had the opportunity to witness his Dad’s handiwork for himself, so when he nearly tripped over an unconscious guard at the bottom of the stairs, he jumped back a little. “Jesus,” he breathed.

 

“Language,” his Dad reminded him while gathering his batons. He strolled across the broken glass, kicking a discarded helmet out of his path.

 

Eric jogged to catch up, cautious of falling behind. Even to his untrained eye, it all seemed a little too easy. After all, Daddy Daredevil had just waged a one-man war against S.H.I.E.L.D., leaving a wake of unconscious bodies and fallen building parts in his path. Matt pushed open the main door, and Eric’s gingerly scanned the horizon. No snipers, no guards, just quiet. His brow furled.

 

“Let’s go home,” Matt said. When Eric turned towards his voice, however, he realized that Matt was not talking to him. Looming in front of Matt, clad in a leather duster and ballistic vest with a white spray-painted skull stood a slightly-groggy, very pissed-off Punisher.

 

“Dad?” Eric said, incredulous.

 

Frank blew out a sharp breath, striding past Matt and pulling Eric into his arms, planting a solid kiss on Eric’s forehead. “Uck,” Eric groaned, leaning away. But his rigid form softened, and his arms reached around to embrace his father in a reassuring hug. Frank’s hold lingered, his powerful fingers scruffling Eric’s auburn hair, breathing in his scent.

 

“Okay,” he finally said, pulling away. “Take your father home.” Frank flipped a set of keys into Eric’s cupped hands.

 

“Wait—what?”

 

“Frank—“ Matt began, stepping in the way, blocking his path to the S.H.I.E.L.D. complex. “No. It’s not worth it.”

 

“Outta my way, Red,” Frank hissed, stalking past him, bumping their shoulders.

 

“I mean it,” Matt snapped. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

 

“Misunderstanding?” Frank let out a sneer that told Matt he wasn’t buying the line for a minute. “I love you, kitten, but you’re a shitty liar.”

 

“Frank!” Matt checked him on both shoulders, shoving him back onto his booted heels and Frank shoved back. Matt let out a frustrated snarl and grabbed his bicep, tugging towards the direction of home. “How about you stop throwing blatant insults at people and start using your thick head for once, shitbag? These people want you in prison.”

 

“I want answers,” Frank insisted, shoving Matt off him like an angry dog with a flea.

 

Matt’s rather gentle encouragement turned into a fist in the eye-socket and Frank responded in-kind, the two dragging each other by their scruffs, sending dust flying.

 

“Dad!,” Eric cried out, unsure himself of which of the two he was referring to.

 

Matt got a few very decent kicks in, marring Frank’s face and sweeping under his leg, Frank falling like a rock beneath him. Matt scrambled on top, clutching the lapels of Frank’s leather duster and shaking him, as if trying to rattle his brain into order. “We need to go!”

 

Frank shoved him off with a roar and scrambled to his feet. He gave Matt’s guarded arms a few punches, then stalked away again, towards the tower. Matt jumped on his back, which slowed his advance, but Frank knocked him off easily, Matt landing hard in the dirt. “Frank!” Matt was desperate. In the midst of catching his breath, he whipped a baton at Frank’s back, jolting him to attention.

 

Frank turned, his dark scowl doing nothing to shade the softness in his eyes. “They need to pay,” he murmured.

 

“And they will, Frank!” Matt gasped out. “They will. But not today. Please. Not today.”

 

“Come on, Dad.” Eric joined in. He offered a hand down to Matt and Matt took it, dusting off his knees. They both looked expectantly at Frank.

 

Frank let out a sigh of surrender, letting the strap of his rifle fall off his shoulder.

 

Matt huffed in relief, patting his husband’s leather-clad shoulder. “C’mon,” he muttered.

 

Somewhere in the edges of his sensory awareness, he heard the trigger of a rifle being squeezed. He turned, a millisecond too late, as a bullet sailed through Frank’s shoulder.

 

Frank hit the ground on his knees, clutching the wound. Matt dove to cover Eric, panic seizing him.

 

“Fuckers,” Frank ground out, making his way around a car. “You okay?,” he called to Matt, who was crouched with Eric behind a vehicle on the other side of the gravel parking lot.

 

“Yeah,” Matt called. “You?”

 

“Peachy,” Frank ground out, cocking his rifle. He took a shot just grazing the building, calling out to the sniper. “We were just leaving.”

 

“Nice try,” the voice called back. “Lower your weapon.”

 

“Hey _you_ shot _me_ , remember?”

 

“No one has to get hurt, Frank.”

 

“Maybe just you.” Frank adjusted the scope on his rifle.

 

Within a few seconds, Frank was surrounded, guns on all sides.

 

“No,” Eric hissed, but Matt held him back.

 

“There’s nothing we can do.”

 

The lead agent held a gun to the back of Frank’s head. “It’s over, Mr. Castle. I am not going to ask again. Lower your weapon or I will blow your brains out right between your eyes, in front of your kid.”

 

Eric felt stupid, having to blink the tears away. The man was infuriating and militant, no doubt, but he was still his Dad.

 

The weapon slid down Frank’s side and onto the pavement. The Strike member kicked it away.

 

Frank’s hands were cuffed quickly, efficiently behind his back and he was dragged to his feet. “You want me to read you your rights? Oh, wait. This is S.H.I.E.L.D., and you’re a fucking murderer.”

 

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Frank spat.

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 


	6. Artwork for Eric the Red

[](http://s611.photobucket.com/user/Jamie_Lyn_Gaskin/media/Eric_zpsmks2ojak.jpg.html)

[](http://s611.photobucket.com/user/Jamie_Lyn_Gaskin/media/Eric%20The%20Red_zpsuzag3soi.jpg.html)


End file.
